The NCAA doesn’t have a Rich Paul problem. It has a problem with black men. The move to regulate agents looks like yet another effort to police black mobility and freedom

The NCAA doesn’t have a Rich Paul problem. The problem is that its structure is designed to regulate the freedom of athletes to turn pro in primarily black sports but not in white ones.

And an entity that now preaches the importance of college graduation for agents doesn’t have the same righteous energy for black athletes at its most lucrative institutions.

Earlier this week, the NCAA implemented what was immediately labeled the “Rich Paul Rule,” after the man who represents NBA players LeBron James, Anthony Davis, Draymond Green, John Wall, Ben Simmons and 2019 first-round draft picks Darius Garland and Darius Bazley. The new regulations require that agents interested in representing players who are considering declaring for the NBA draft now must have a bachelor’s degree, be certified with the National Basketball Players Association for at least three years and take a comprehensive in-person exam at NCAA headquarters in Indianapolis. Paul, who never attended college, is one of many agents affected by this rule — but unquestionably the most prominent.

The NCAA’s move was instantly lambasted as hypocritical and vindictive. “The world is so afraid of ground breakers.…This is beyond sad & major B.S.,” tweeted comedian Kevin Hart. James, Paul’s biggest client, longtime friend and confidant, could only laugh at the NCAA’s energy, saying, “Nothing will stop this movement and culture over here.”

Chris Rock explained the context for the NCAA mandate years ago. “We’re only 10% of the population,” he said on 2004’s Never Scared. “We’re 90% of the Final Four!”

Only basketball must adhere to the new NCAA mandate. The actual text doesn’t mention race. Nevertheless, the writing is not just written on the wall, it’s been carved. It’s a “race-neutral” rule that isn’t race-neutral. This comes with historical precedence that the NCAA knows all too well.

One of the worst-kept secrets in sports is how top-tier college football and basketball programs directly benefited from desegregation. Before integration, the vast majority of top black athletes had no choice but to attend historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs). Once the larger and richer predominantly white schools began to integrate, HBCUs couldn’t compete. But there’s been a parallel development too: The graduation rates for black athletes at top sports programs remain consistently and embarrassingly low.

Agent Rich Paul (right), seen here with LeBron James (left), is a threat. To the status quo. To the hierarchy of power.

Photo by Jerritt Clark/Getty Images for Klutch Sports Group

Shaun R. Harper, executive director of the University of Southern California’s Race and Equity Center, found that, overall, black male athletes graduate at higher percentages than black males who are not involved in sports. But that’s not true for the NCAA’s wealthiest leagues: the Power 5 of the ACC, Big Ten, Big 12, Pac-12 and SEC.

“The [NCAA] has claimed in television commercials that black male student-athletes at Division I institutions graduate rates are higher than black men in the general student body,” the report says. “This is true across the entire division, but not for the five conferences whose member institutions routinely win football and basketball championships, play in multimillion-dollar bowl games and the annual basketball championship tournament, and produce the largest share of Heisman Trophy winners.”

And an entity that now preaches the importance of college graduation for agents doesn’t have the same righteous energy for black athletes at its most lucrative institutions.

Black men made up 2.4% of the Power 5 student population but 55% and 56%, respectively, of its football and basketball teams. Of those numbers, 55% of black male athletes graduated in under six years, compared with 60% of black men in the overall undergraduate population and 76% of all college graduates.

“Over the past two years, 40% of these universities have actually had black male student-athlete graduation rates that have declined,” Harper said. “We’re supposed to be getting better, but actually 40% of these places have gotten worse.”

Meanwhile, the debate over paying college athletes is sharply divided by race. Most whites are against “pay to play,” while most blacks strongly support it because the current system exploits a largely black athletic base.

In the NBA, the sport is still primarily black. (The Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport found that during the 2015-16 season, 81.7% of NBA players were people of color and 74.3% were black.) But black athletes have significant power and influence over everything from where they play to who coaches them to the structure of their contracts.

This shifting power dynamic is beginning earlier and earlier too. Bazley skipped college last year to become a million-dollar intern with New Balance. R.J. Hampton and LaMelo Ball, both touted as 2020 lottery picks, are taking their talents to Australia for a year before declaring for the NBA draft. Hampton has already inked a shoe deal with Li-Ning.

As Yahoo’s Dan Wetzel noted, the new rule’s standard doesn’t apply to college hockey players or baseball players, who can be drafted out of high school but can choose to attend college if their draft placement doesn’t appeal to them.

If this wasn’t about a young black man who achieved his success out of the mud and then empowered other black men to recognize their worth in spite of an organization that has for years manipulated their talents for the organization’s gain, if this wasn’t about yet another American institution attempting to police black mobility and freedom, then it’s difficult to see what the actual reasoning is.

This brings the discussion back to Paul and James. It’s often been said there is a Jay-Z lyric for any situation in life. Perhaps the most fitting here is a bar from Jay’s 2001 album The Blueprint, which entered the Library of Congress in March: All I need is the love of my crew / The whole industry can hate me, I thugged my way through, he pledged on “All I Need.” In essence, this has been the motto for Paul, James and the two other members of their inner circle, Maverick Carter and Randy Mims.

When James cut ties to agent Aaron Goodwin in 2005, eyebrows raised and many said that the young basketball phenom had risked his career before it truly tipped off. At the time, it was easy to understand why, given that Goodwin had helped the 2003 No. 1 overall draft pick obtain a bevy of endorsements, including Bubblicious chewing gum, Upper Deck trading cards, Sprite, Powerade and, most gaudy of them all, a seven-year, $90 million shoe deal with Nike. Few believed in James’ vision when he turned to three of his childhood friends to chart the course of his career on and off the court.

“James’ switcheroo a youthful mistake,” the Chicago Sun-Times wrote.

“I will promise you really ugly things will happen,” said former NFL player turned financial adviser Jim Corbett. “This is a big mistake, a bad decision that is going to cost LeBron.”

Which leads us to another Jay lyric, this one from 2009’s “Already Home”: And as for the critics, tell me I don’t get it / Everybody can tell you how to do it, they never did it. Thanks to the friends he entrusted with his career nearly 15 years ago, James is not only the most powerful player in basketball history but also a player in Hollywood, fashion, education and politics.

Money and power elicit respect, as elucidated by Kimberly Jones. But they also open the door for fear and angst. President Donald Trump took shots at LeBron on Twitter last August after the launch of his I Promise School in Akron, Ohio, saying it was hard to make “LeBron look smart” and weighed in on the NBA’s most contested debate, saying he preferred Michael Jordan over James — which Jordan quickly rebuffed. The two were labeled “mob bosses” by an unnamed Western Conference general manager last season after public attempts to move Anthony Davis to the Lakers (a move that eventually happened).

From left to right: Anthony Davis, LeBron James, Rich Paul, Ben Simmons and Miles Bridges attend the Klutch 2019 All Star Weekend Dinner Presented by Remy Martin and hosted by Klutch Sports Group at 5Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, on Feb. 16.

Photo by Dominique Oliveto/Getty Images for Klutch Sports Group 2019 All Star Weekend

Rich Paul is a threat. To the status quo. To the hierarchy of power. And to the image of an industry that is still dominated by white males and has long exercised fiscal and moral authority over black athletes.

Basketball altered its rules to make it harder for three players who made the game look too easy (i.e., they dominated the white players too much): Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Maybe the NCAA didn’t implement this rule with Paul as its sole motivation. Just like maybe the NCAA wouldn’t be so open to criticism if it made the education of players a higher priority.

Unfortunately, the NCAA addressed a perceived problem while never addressing its own. Sometimes sports really is a reflection of life.

For Beyoncé’s Homecoming scholars, their scholarships were lifesavers Her commitment and love for HBCUs comes from growing up around top bands

Her honey blond hair was like a halo of gold under the stage lights.

An Egyptian cape wrapped around her body. She mesmerized the audience.

Once the whistle blew, Coachella’s music festival and the lives of eight students attending historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) changed forever.

Beyoncé’s groundbreaking performance at the 2018 desert concert paid homage to HBCUs by showcasing black culture and talent. “When I decided to do Coachella, instead of me pulling out my flower crown, it was more important that I brought our culture to Coachella,” Beyoncé said in her Netflix film Homecoming.

Beyoncé made history for being the first black woman to headline Coachella. During that performance, she announced the Homecoming Scholarship Awards Program under her BeyGood initiative. She offered $25,000 each to students at Xavier University in Louisiana, Grambling State University, Tuskegee University, Morehouse College, Wilberforce University, Texas Southern University, Fisk University and Bethune-Cookman University.

I attend Xavier and I was one of the recipients. And I’m graduating on May 11!

It felt like just yesterday I was dancing in the living room with my father as Beyoncé performed “Love On Top” at the 2011 MTV Video Music Awards. We both smiled at each other, in awe of Beyoncé’s talent as a visionary and entertainer. Every time we heard her voice over the radio or when we blasted her music in our house, it gave us goose bumps. My dad and I always connected through music. When he died my junior year in high school from cancer, I was in disbelief. But it was Beyoncé’s music and presence that taught me to stay strong and that no dream of mine was too big.

I decided to leave my hometown of Boston and attend Xavier University of Louisiana to reconnect with my dad’s roots and carry on his legacy in New Orleans, where he grew up. My dad taught me how to write and reminded me that everyone has a story to be told. When I stepped foot on my HBCU campus, I hit the ground running by getting involved in journalism.

Two years ago, I had the chance to meet Beyoncé at a party that her sister Solange was hosting for NBA All-Star Weekend in New Orleans. I thanked Beyoncé for her music and for getting me through losing my dad. She responded, “I’m so sorry for your loss, and thank you for being such a supportive fan.”

With each passing year, it became increasingly difficult for my newly single mom to cover the cost of my out-of-state tuition. But last summer, my worries faded away. I was interning in the sports department at the Tampa Bay Times and saw the news on Twitter. I saw a “Congratulations” tweet and realized I was one of the winners. I was speechless, and couldn’t believe the announcement was real.

The outpouring from the public was something I had never seen before on my social media. Other recipients said they felt that same love. The Tuskegee winner, Caleb Washington, screamed when she saw the news on Twitter. She was interning at Goldman Sachs.

Washington transferred from the University of West Alabama during her junior year. She played basketball and was on an athletic scholarship. But she gave it up, the sport and the scholarship, to focus on getting into law school.

“The Beyoncé scholarship was like a safe haven because it replaced the athletic scholarship,” she said. “Tuskegee has prepared me through the trials and triumphs of operating and managing your day-to-day. At an HBCU, it prepares you for corporate life.”

When Washington watched Beyoncé’s performance, she felt that it was an honor to be black. “I felt so proud. In a sense, I felt validated to be a soon-an-HBCU grad and be part of this culture,” Washington said.

If it wasn’t for Beyoncé’s scholarship, recipient Cletus Emokpae said, he would have not received his master’s degree in mass communication and would have been homeless. The Grambling State alumnus got into a car accident the day before he heard the scholarship news.

“I called my mom and broke down and cried because she understood, after a while you get tired of always having to struggle,” he said. “At what point does the grind start to really showcase the fruits of your labor?”

For Emokpae, this scholarship finally showed him that his hard work was paying off. When he first got to Grambling, he could not afford housing.

“One of my professors took me in just so I had a place to stay to get my work done,” he said.

“People can say a lot about Gram Fam, but when it comes down to it, when you need somebody, they will be there for you. No questions asked.”

By attending an HBCU, “it’s like a homecoming every day,” he said. Emokpae was proud to see how Beyoncé incorporated a band into her performance.

“People don’t even go to the football games for the football games anymore. They really go to see the bands,” he said. “And the bands at HBCUs are really like the pulse for a lot of these campuses. It runs deep.”

Beyoncé explains in her documentary that she handpicked her band members and dancers to make sure it felt like a homecoming, her HBCU.

“I wanted all of these different characters, and I wanted it to feel the way I felt when I went to Battle of the Bands, because I grew up seeing those shows, and that being the highlight of my year,” Beyoncé said. Her father attended Fisk University, and as a young artist she mentioned that she grew up rehearsing at Texas Southern and Prairie View.

Beyoncé has touched so many lives through her music, projects and philanthropy and as a businesswoman altogether. From this scholarship alone, one woman impacted eight different lives. As a result, we will always be connected and grateful for her support.

Homecoming has only increased my respect for Beyoncé. I continue to sing her songs that I used to belt out with my dad as a little girl. The only difference is, he’s looking over me as my guardian angel.

By accident, ‘Space Jam’ is a nearly perfect stoner movie #MuteRKelly and ‘Space Jam’ becomes an ideal movie for 4/20

I found it.

I found a perfect movie for 4/20. Well, almost.

It’s Space Jam (minus the treacly R. Kelly theme that doesn’t even match the tone of the movie).

But Space Jam is an accidental stoner classic. It’s a kids movie that just happens to be the perfect mix of hilarious, fantastical, riveting and disturbing when watched while one is stoned out of one’s gourd. The stakes revolve around slavery. Slavery! Imagine if its forthcoming sequel took that energy and made it intentional.

If Space Jam 2 possesses the hallmark phantasmagoria of its director, Terence Nance, it ought to leave sober viewers wondering if they’ve accidentally ingested shrooms. It will be smart. It will be subversive. It will be sublimely weird.

Which gives me great hope that besides being a multiple NBA-championship-winning philanthropist who builds schools and produces documentaries that shine a light on those least illuminated, LeBron James could end up producing and starring in the best stoner flick since The Big Lebowski. One without the asterisk that comes with incorporating a warbling paean to flight sung by the man who showed us just what a superhero Gayle King actually is.

LeBron has the range. And we deserve.

This week, I busied myself with a bit of public service journalism. I went on the hunt for the perfect black stoner flick and kept coming up disappointed. Friday’s casual violence doesn’t age so well. How High is similarly distasteful. Half Baked is innocuous silliness. Newlyweeds is a bit uneven. Where is The Dude who dropped out after three semesters at Howard? Where are the black analogues to Abbi and Ilana? Or Harold and Kumar? What’s the hip-hop album/film mashup that accomplishes the trippy satisfaction of Dark Side of Oz?

Maybe they don’t exist yet. They should.

But until that day comes, let’s revisit what makes Space Jam an excellent stoner film.


In Space Jam — which somehow required not one, not two, not three, but FOUR screenwriters — like an epic adaptation of Doctor Faustus, Michael Jordan has retired from basketball and has moved on to baseball. He has a bulldog named Charles. (As in Charles BARK-ley, get it?) At the same time Michael is making this career transition, a group of aliens from a place called Moron Mountain descends upon Cartoon World, which is the home of Bugs Bunny, Porky Pig, Tweety Bird, the Tasmanian Devil, the Road Runner, Lola Bunny, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, Yosemite Sam, Marvin the Martian, the weird rooster with the Southern accent and one elderly white granny. (Among elements that go unexplained: why the male-to-female ratio in Cartoon Land is so screwy.)

The Alien Moron Imperialists look like what might result if a person used CRISPR to splice together the DNA of a cockroach, a toucan and a guinea pig. They’re not that bright, but they have guns. They say things like, “You. All of you are now our prisoners.”

“We’re taking you to our theme park in outer space.”

“No food.”

“Where you will be our slaves and placed on display for the amusement of our paying customers.”

The aliens basically declare that they’re establishing a triangular trade between Moron Mountain, Earth and Cartoon Land, which seems to be located somewhere between the Earth’s crust and mantle, given that Jordan ends up there after he’s shrunken and swallowed into a putting green hole.

The Looney Tunes, faced with an existential crisis and no means to defend themselves (except maybe Elmer’s shotgun, which no one bothers to try shooting), hatch a deal with the aliens.

“Give us a chance to defend ourselves,” they request. With a basketball game.

OK, there is actually some defensible logic here. The aliens are about the size of guinea pigs and the Looney Tunes are … taller. The odds should be in their favor. Still, the only thing lying between Porky, Tasmanian Devil, Lola, Tweety, etc., and ending up like Sarah Baartman is … basketball? That’s a bit of a head-scratcher.

Michael Jordan of the Chicago Bulls poses with a cutout of Bugs Bunny at a news conference in New York on June 20, 1995.

AP Photo/Marty Lederhandler

The aliens take the deal, then set about sucking the talent out of a bunch of NBA players for their own use, like hideous, squeaky-voiced precursors to the Armitages of Get Out. (Has Nance thought about casting Allison Williams in Space Jam 2? Because that could be a really nice way to complete this circle.)

So Muggsy Bogues, Charles Barkley and Patrick Ewing discover that they’ve become instantly terrible at basketball, and they have no idea why. And because “alien body snatchers leeching off black people’s talent so they can win the rights to enslave some other people” doesn’t exactly present itself as an obvious explanation, the rest of the NBA is shook. The other players start wearing gas masks to avoid the mysterious bacterial contagion that’s going around rendering NBA players useless.

The Looney Tunes find themselves facing newly beefed-up Morons who look suspiciously like the sort of big, black, ’roided-up threats that are more a figment of the racist imagination than a real thing. None of the imaginary characters in this film seems to care much about bodily agency — not even their own. Again, we’ve arrived at this point because the only thing standing between the Looney Tunes and slavery is a basketball game. So the Looney Tunes shrink Jordan and suck him down the hole of a putting green when he’s out playing golf with Larry Bird, the publicist of his new baseball team, and Bill Murray.

Can we just take a minute to recognize that Jordan has terrible friends in this movie? Not a one of them tries to save him.

With Jordan firmly ensconced in Looney Tunes Land, Bugs Bunny explains why he and his friends have sucked the greatest basketball player of all time into middle-earth: “You see, these aliens come from outer space and they want to make us slaves in their theme park. Eh, what do we care. They’re little. So then we challenge them to a basketball game. But then they show up and they ain’t so little. They’re HUGE! We need to beat these guys! ’Cause they’re talkin’ slavery! They’re gonna make us do stand-up comedy. The same jokes, every night, for all eternity. We’re gonna be locked up like wild animals and trotted out to perform for a bunch of low-brow, bug-eyed, fat-headed, humor-challenged aliens. What I’m trying to say is, WE NEED YOUR HEEEEEEEEEEELP.”

This bit of exposition is accompanied by an image of Bugs Bunny attached to a ball and chain, shucking and jiving against his will across a stage. How did we miss all the racial subtext packed into this movie?

The ’roided-up body snatcher aliens, now known as the Monstars, are not so impressed by Jordan.

“You heard of the Dream Team?” one asks. “Well, we’re the Mean Team.”

And then they proceed to ball up Jordan like he doesn’t have bones, or ligaments, or a spinal cord, and dribble him around a two-dimensional basketball court.

Meanwhile, on the surface of Earth, a doctor is asking Ewing if he’s been experiencing impotence since he lost his talent. This movie is wild.

The 2-D stars of Space Jam.

Frank Trapper/Corbis via Getty Images

Anyway, once Jordan’s regained his natural, nonspherical shape, he sends Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck to search his house for his lucky Carolina shorts and his shoes, because you can’t play basketball against a team of body-snatching aliens in golf spikes. That would be preposterous.

It turns out there’s a comically evil, cigar-smoking alien fat cat (voiced by Danny DeVito) who is forcing the Morons to steal the essences of black people, play this game against the Looney Tunes and win. (Way to let the Alien Imperialist Morons off the hook, writers. Turns out they were only following orders!)

Even with Jordan on their side, the Tune Squad is awful. But at halftime, down 66-20, all of the Tune Squad gets a hit of a mysterious bottle labeled “Michael’s Secret Stuff.” They start scoring and playing incredible defense to close the gap to 68-66. Jordan informs his teammates his “secret stuff” is actually just water, leading them to believe in themselves.

The game ends with the Tune Squad winning, 78-77. Jordan not only saves the Looney Tunes from slavery, he manages to repossess the talent of Bogues, Ewing and Barkley and return it. The fat cat goes ricocheting into outer space, Jordan goes back to basketball, and then in pipes the comically incongruous “I Believe I Can Fly.”

That’s it. That’s the (nearly) perfect 4/20 movie.

Time to roll another spliff.

Oscars recap: ‘Green Book’s’ side-eye, Regina King and Spike Lee’s one shining moment Hollywood’s biggest night was filled with surprising winners and snubs

Call it prophetic. Call it coincidence. But whatever you do, call it black. On Feb. 24, 1999, Lauryn Hill made Grammys history by walking away with five awards, including the most prestigious for album of the year for her groundbreaking album The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Exactly 20 years to the day, black actors, actresses and films captured a smorgasbord of awards at the 91st Academy Awards in Los Angeles.

True indeed this has been a Black History Month for the ages (not in a good way). Nevertheless, Sunday night’s Oscars presentation is worth discussing for several reasons: In an ideal world, Kendrick Lamar and SZA would’ve performed their Grammy and Oscar-nominated smash record “All The Stars.” Black Panther, Marvel Studios’ first Oscar winner, capturing best picture in the same parallel universe — which seemed all but a certainty off the strength of the mass hysteria it was causing this time last year. It was even featured in the NBA Slam Dunk Contest!

Speaking of best picture, though, that brings us to the first of three highlights of the evening’s festivities.

1. Green Book, really? Here’s the thing. Salute to Mahershala Ali — one of the great actors of his generation and unquestionably a class act. Yet, Green Book winning best picture will be one of the more debated Oscars forever. But, tied for the second most awards of the night with three, Book comes off as a shell of a winner. Especially when you take into account that Ali apologized to the family of Don Shirley (whom he portrayed in the film).

Spike Lee was reportedly so upset by the award that he stormed out of the venue, but then came back. For Lee, it likely brought back memories of Do The Right Thing not being nominated for best picture at the 1990 Oscars — the award that went to Driving Miss Daisy.

Black Panther and BlacKkKlansman were better films with decidedly better reviews and decidedly larger cultural impact. Nevertheless, this isn’t an indictment of Ali. But don’t be surprised if years down the road the now multiple-Oscar winner speaks his true feelings on the film.

2. One time for Spike. Consider it one of those “wait … what?” black history facts. Like Shaquille O’Neal only having one MVP award. Or Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls and Jimi Hendrix having a combined zero Grammys. But before Sunday night, legendary filmmaker Lee had never won an Oscar. (And, yes, Malcolm X never winning an Oscar is Hollywood’s equivalent of Roy Jones Jr. being robbed of a gold medal in the 1988 Olympics — which Lee ironically did a documentary all about and through.)

Lee’s BlacKkKlansman won best adapted screenplay and he accepted it dressed in purple in honor of Prince and rocking LOVE and HATE knuckle rings in remembrance of the late Bill Nunn’s Radio Raheem character from Do The Right Thing. Lee launched into an emotional acceptance speech — he paid homage to his enslaved ancestors, his grandmother and even indigenous tribes who had their land stripped out from under them. In other words, it was Spike Lee going full Spike Lee. And to be quite honest, he deserved that moment.

3. And one time for Regina King. Maybe it’s because my introduction to her was Iesha in 1993’s Poetic Justice. Or maybe it’s because her pulling double duty in one of the truly impactful series of our time in The Boondocks. Whatever the case, King winning awards and being lathered with exorbitant amounts of praise is the sort of black history we could all stand to bask in. She won best supporting actress Sunday night for her role in If Beale Street Could Talk — a victory made all the more impressive given the loaded field of Amy Adams (Vice), Rachel Weisz (The Favourite) Marina de Tavira (Roma) and Emma Stone (The Favourite). With the award, King became the eighth black woman to be bestowed with the honor, and it’s one she didn’t take lightly. Her emotionally charged acceptance speech thanked the late James Baldwin, whose book inspired the Barry Jenkins-directed masterpiece (which was noticeably absent from the best picture category … but that’s another debate for another time). “I feel like I’ve had so many women that paved the way, are paving the way,” King said. “I feel like I walk in their light, and I also am creating my own light, and there are young women who will walk in the light that I’m continuing to shine and expand from those women before me.” She’s a generational talent spanning multiple generations with range perhaps best described as embarrassingly dynamic. Give King all the awards. Because it’s not like she doesn’t deserve them anyway.

Instagram Photo

4. HBCU connect. Morehouse College’s own Lee made sure to pay homage to his Spelman College-educated grandmother in that long-awaited academy speech. And Hampton University’s Ruth Carter became the first black person to win the Oscar for best costume design. Saying it felt like homecoming is a reach. But historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) played a role in stomping the yard at Sunday night’s show.

Phil Freelon, America’s most prominent black architect, designs for the culture The ‘Blacksonian,’ Atlanta’s civil rights center — and a Durham bus station — are all part of his legacy

It was a brisk early afternoon in January, and I was sitting in a van in Durham, North Carolina, with Phil Freelon, arguably the most prominent working African-American architect in the country. Freelon is best known for designing the National Museum of African American History and Culture and other major museum projects — among them Atlanta’s National Center for Civil Rights, San Francisco’s Museum of the African Diaspora, and Charlotte’s Harvey B. Gantt Center for African-American Arts + Culture. But on this day, we were admiring, of all things, a bus station.

“If you go around the country and visit bus stations, they’re usually seedy and dirty,” he said. “But they don’t have to be.”

And the Durham Station Transportation Center, which Freelon designed, wouldn’t be out of place on the gilded campuses of Apple or Google. The center, which opened in 2008, has a glass exterior topped by a sleek metal roof sloped like a beret, covering an airy, minimalist interior lounge and ticketing area.

“In my career, I’ve learned that if you build something beautiful, people will respect it,” he said. “You’ll notice there’s no graffiti. Now, I don’t think everyone going to catch a bus looks around and says, ‘Wow, this is a beautiful building.’ But I think they soak in the ambiance, and I’m happy about that.”

Durham Station Transportation Center

James West/J West Productions LLC

The paradox of architecture is that it’s all around us, and yet, for many people, the profession remains esoteric. “If you have a talented young African-American, their family will likely know a lawyer, doctor, teacher or a clergyman, but not an architect,” Freelon said. “My parents, who were both college-educated, didn’t know an architect of any color, and certainly not a black one.

“Diversity is a huge problem in our profession. The profession is small — there are only 110,000 licensed architects in the United States, compared to 1 million attorneys and 800,000 physicians. And only 2 percent of architects are African-Americans, a lower ratio than with lawyers and doctors.”

Freelon, 65, has attempted to change that on several fronts: through his hiring practices, visits to predominantly minority schools to speak about his work, and the establishment in 2016 of the Freelon Fellowship, which provides financial aid so a student from an underrepresented group can attend the Harvard Graduate School of Design. And since he founded his eponymous firm in 1990, much of his work has been focused on designing libraries and other academic buildings for historically black colleges and universities and cultural projects in traditionally black neighborhoods.

Currently he’s involved with a major expansion of the Motown Museum in Detroit, a mile-long open-air museum along Crenshaw Boulevard in Los Angeles and the North Carolina Freedom Park in downtown Raleigh. “He’s designed nearly every major museum or public space dedicated to black culture in the United States,” Fast Company magazine observed when it named Freelon its Architect of the Year in 2017.

“Of course, you don’t just wake up one morning and the Smithsonian wants you to build a museum,” Freelon said. “There’s 30 years of work that leads up to that.”


Before he had ever met an architect, Freelon had decided to become one. He grew up in Philadelphia, where his mother was a school administrator and his father was a salesperson for Cordis, a Miami-based medical device manufacturer. Freelon attended Central High School, an academically rigorous, predominantly white, all-boys magnet school, which also produced the famed architect Louis Kahn. Citing the influence of his grandfather, Allan Randall Freelon Sr., a Harlem Renaissance-era painter, Freelon said he was drawn to classes in the visual arts, as well as drafting and design. He also took inspiration from his strolls through the city, visiting the Franklin Institute and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. “Only later,” Freelon said, “did I learn that a black architect, Julian Abele, helped design the museum,” including the iconic steps featured in Rocky.

Freelon had his mind set on attending a historically black college or university (HBCU) and enrolled at Hampton University in Virginia. “It was the height of the civil rights movement and Black Power, and I had an Afro and was very socially engaged,” he said.

Freelon plowed through the curriculum. “He was an excellent student, meticulous and curious,” said John Spencer, chairman of the architecture department, whom Freelon credits as his first mentor. Believing he would be more challenged at a larger university, Freelon transferred to North Carolina State, although he was anxious about moving deeper into the South. “When my father used to attend his company’s annual conference in Miami in the ’60s, he couldn’t stay in the downtown hotels and would stay in the black neighborhood of Overtown,” Freelon recalled. But a visit to Raleigh reassured him.

“At N.C. State, Phil and I were two of only a handful of black students at the College of Design, and there weren’t any black professors in our discipline,” recalled Percy Hooper, now an associate professor of industrial design at N.C. State. “We didn’t feel segregated from the white students, but we ended up spending a lot of time together, supporting one another.” The coursework was demanding, and there wasn’t a lot of downtime. To unwind, the friends would ride their bikes or, more ill-advisedly, toss around ninja stars.

During summers, Freelon worked for a professor at the Durham-based architectural firm of John D. Latimer and Associates and continued at the firm’s Taunton, Massachusetts, office while pursuing a master’s degree at MIT, which he completed in 1977. He worked briefly for a large firm, 3/D International in Houston, before returning to Durham to join O’Brien Atkins Associates, where he soon became the firm’s youngest partner.

“I’ve learned that if you build something beautiful, people will respect it.”

Freelon helped design schools, churches and other buildings around the state. “As a young architect, you’re not a specialist and you tackle a wide variety of projects.” A significant step in his career, he said, was being tapped as lead designer for Terminal 2 of the Raleigh-Durham International Airport. “Of course, it’s since been demolished and rebuilt,” he said, chuckling. “At this stage of my career, there are a few buildings that I’ve designed that have been torn down.” (He later designed an award-winning parking garage at the airport, as well as the airport’s general aviation building.)

In 1989, Freelon received a fellowship to study independently for a year at Harvard. The next year, he left O’Brien Atkins to launch his own firm, the Freelon Group. It began as a one-man shop and grew to more than 50 employees, about 40 percent of whom are women and 30 percent people of color.

“When I decided to start my own practice, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do and not do,” Freelon said. “I wasn’t going to design prisons, strip malls or casinos. The work that excited me were schools, libraries and similar projects that positively impacted the community.” Freelon also said he had little interest in upscale residential projects, the multimillion-dollar homes that fill the pages of Dwell and Architectural Digest, the ubiquitous coffee table magazines of the aspiring bourgeoisie. “The only home I’ve ever built is my own,” he said.


Phil and Nnenna Freelon in 2015

Lissa Gotwals

One afternoon, I joined Freelon and his wife, Nnenna, at their suburban home, a 15-minute drive from downtown Durham. The modern, two-story structure with a matching separate studio space features a warm combination of concrete, steel, glass and laminate siding. The sloped lot abuts a pond and runs the length of a football field. There’s a long path from the house to a fire pit and a steel animal sculpture that the Freelons named Kareem Abdul-Giraffe.

Inside, the New Standard Quintet, a Chicago jazz group, played on the stereo while the couple’s dog, Count Basie, perched by the couch. Earlier, Freelon had told me how he met his wife. Nnenna, a Massachusetts native, was finishing her undergraduate degree at Simmons University in Boston. She was on a visit to the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, where she was considering pursuing a graduate degree in health care administration. A mutual friend introduced them. “We met on our friend’s front porch, and for me it really was love at first sight,” Phil Freelon said. It was a swift courtship. With only her undergraduate thesis to complete, Nnenna moved to North Carolina, they got married and she quickly became pregnant. She put graduate school on hold and eventually turned to her first love, jazz singing, and is now a six-time Grammy Award nominee.

“Phil is one of those lucky people who always knew what he wanted to do,” Nnenna Freelon said. “For most of us, it’s more circuitous. I was blessed to have a husband who was passionate about what he did and wanted me to find what I was passionate about.”

For a globe-trotting professional singer and star architect, Durham isn’t an obvious home base. Why not New York, Los Angeles or Chicago? “When you have kids, your life changes,” Phil Freelon said. “We figured we could live here and get in an airplane and go where we needed to go. I’m a huge family guy, and I love being a father. That was most important.” The Freelons have three children, who all live nearby. Deen Freelon, the oldest, is a tenured professor at the UNC School of Media and Journalism. Maya Freelon Asante is a visual artist. And Pierce Freelon, the youngest, is an activist and former Durham mayoral candidate who runs Blackspace, an after-school entrepreneurship and social media program for disadvantaged youths.

“I wasn’t going to design prisons, strip malls or casinos. The work that excited me were schools, libraries and similar projects that positively impacted the community.”

“It’s been impressive what Phil has done here,” said Kevin Montgomery, the African-American president of O’Brien Atkins whom Freelon recruited to that firm in 1988. “He was able to develop a firm in a midsize market that has global recognition and can compete with much larger firms in places like New York and Chicago.”

That proved to be the case with the Smithsonian museum, a project, Freelon said, that was more than a decade in the making. A couple of years after his Museum of the African Diaspora opened in 2005 in San Francisco, Freelon teamed up with New York’s Max Bond to win a contract from the Smithsonian to complete the planning and pre-design work for the African-American museum on the National Mall. A year later, the Smithsonian announced an international design competition, and Ghanaian-British architect David Adjaye approached Freelon and Bond about joining forces.

“David is the highest-profile architect of African descent in the world, and we had our eyes out for what he was going to do for the competition,” Freelon said. “We met and determined we had similar approaches and values, so the team was expanded.” They also added another firm, Washington-based SmithGroup, which had previously done work for the Smithsonian. More than 60 groups, representing firms throughout the world, sought the commission. The Smithsonian eventually culled the field to six, provided them with stipends and asked them to produce designs within 60 days.

Team members from Freelon Adjaye Bond/SmithGroup, who designed the winning concept for the National Museum of African American History and Culture, meet with members of the Smithsonian Institution: (from left to right) Hall David, Peter Cook, director of the National Museum of African American History and Culture Lonnie Bunch, David Adjaye, Phil Freelon and Smithsonian secretary Wayne Clough in front of a model of the winning design in Washington, D.C., on April 14, 2009.

AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin

“We were competing against all these starchitects,” Freelon said, including I.M. Pei, Norman Foster and Moshe Safdie. A committee composed of members of the Smithsonian, the architectural press and academics picked the Freelon Adjaye Bond/SmithGroup design.

When the National Museum of African American History and Culture opened in 2016, Los Angeles Times architecture critic Christopher Hawthorne hailed the building’s “powerful strangeness” that “embraces memory and aspiration, protest and reconciliation, pride and shame.” He continued, “The museum’s skin — has that typically benign architectural term ever been more charged? — allows it to stand apart from the Mall’s white-marble monuments like a rebuke.” The most recent accolade came in January, when the American Institute of Architects named the museum one of nine winners of its 2019 Honor Awards.

During the opening ceremonies, which included a Kennedy Center performance by Nnenna, Freelon was walking with a cane. He’d experienced leg troubles the previous year, although at first he didn’t think much of it. “I was run-down anyway, because 2015 was an intense year,” he said. Not only was he finishing the museum, he was also teaching at MIT. He had also just completed a merger of his firm with the global architecture powerhouse Perkins + Will, which had been courting Freelon for more than a decade. Freelon now oversaw the firm’s North Carolina operations from Durham.

“It wasn’t just that Phil was a superstar — and he really is the Michael Jordan of architecture,” said Perkins + Will CEO Phil Harrison. “We wanted Phil because of his design sensibility, which is modern but not cold. There’s a real humanism you can see in all his work. And with his staff you see a real diversity, not just in demographics but in thinking.”

When Freelon traveled to D.C., he would jog around the Mall to stay in shape. “I noticed I’d use the same effort, but it was taking me longer and longer to complete my course, and my right foot was dragging.”

After meeting with several doctors, Freelon was referred to Richard Bedlack, who heads Duke University’s Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis Clinic. Freelon was diagnosed with ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, which is progressive and incurable. It attacks the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord and in time results in total paralysis and, ultimately, death — typically within two to four years after the diagnosis.

Freelon was “shocked and disappointed,” he said, and there was a brief period of denial. But after a few months, Freelon told his staff and took a month off to ponder his future. “But I decided to go back and work full time,” he said. Now, he uses a heavy electric wheelchair and works less and mainly from home. He remains on the Perkins + Will board of directors and is closely involved in ongoing projects.

“I’m an optimist by nature, and I look at my prognosis as a glass half full,” Freelon said. “I’m relieved I was able to raise my children and have a career and family.”


Architect Phil Freelon at the offices of Perkins + Will in Durham, North Carolina.

Endia Beal for The Undefeated

One can drive a mile in almost any direction around Durham and come across a building Freelon designed. With his sister-in-law Debbie Pierce driving Freelon’s customized van, we visited the Durham Bulls’ Athletic Park, home to the country’s most famous minor league baseball team featured in the movie Bull Durham; the Durham County Human Services Building, an airy, glass structure with a huge courtyard that replaced a grim, Soviet-style bureaucratic bunker; and several science buildings on the campuses of North Carolina Central, an HBCU, and Duke University.

Few professions offer their practitioners a chance to leave a physical legacy, and I offered to Freelon that he must feel proud as we revisited his creations. He laughed and alluded to a famous Frank Lloyd Wright quote: “A doctor can bury his mistakes, but an architect can only advise his clients to plant vines.”

Of course, Freelon didn’t view his works as mistakes. He was being self-deprecating. But it was also significant that on our tour he insisted I visit a few buildings he didn’t design.

We parked in front of Duke University Chapel, a majestic Gothic structure with a 210-foot-tall bell tower. The chapel, along with other significant structures on Duke’s campus, including Cameron Stadium, was designed by Julian Abele, an African-American architect who was the chief designer for the Philadelphia firm of Horace Trumbauer. “The story goes that when Abele came down here to do site work he had to dress up in overalls and pretend he was a common laborer or he wouldn’t have been allowed on campus,” Freelon said. It wasn’t until the 1980s that the university formally acknowledged Abele’s contributions, placing a portrait of the architect in the lobby of the main administration building and naming the main campus quad Abele Quad.

Later, we pulled in front of a small church in a historically African-American neighborhood. Opened in 1931, it was originally a church for the deaf, who were recruited to work in Durham’s noisy cigarette manufacturing plants. More recently, it had been rented to various congregations. Eventually, it was put up for sale and Phil and Nnenna Freelon purchased it. We went inside, where workers were renovating the space. Freelon had hired a friend who had more experience with such work to be the architect.

The Freelons created a nonprofit, North Star Church of the Arts, to operate the building as a community space. (An inaugural service will be held Feb. 17.) “We’ll have spoken-word nights, after-school programs, maybe some weddings and other ceremonies,” Freelon said. “We just want to give back to the community.”

We were in the back of the church. The pews had been pulled out and stacked to the side, and we looked toward an imaginary dais.

Freelon has been involved in building celebrated structures that will last for many years. The Smithsonian museum likely will survive as long as our republic. But here he was inside a humble church that he didn’t even design, smiling. “Nnenna and I wanted this to be our legacy project,” he said.

Samuel L. Jackson ranks Samuel L. Jackson The film legend ranks his favorite characters of all time: 1 through 20


Samuel L. Jackson ranks Samuel L. Jackson The film legend ranks his favorite characters of all time: 1 through 20

46

1712

1319

810

114

165

32

1815

711

920

511

218

207

153

1116

64

1217

1913

108

141

20 Lazarus Redd Black Snake Moan, 2006

“I spent a year learning to play guitar to do the role.”

19 Charles Morritz The Red Violin, 1998

“One of [my] most cerebral characters. I spent time with guys who made violins so I’d understand the process of evaluating their authenticity.”

18 Elmo McElroy Formula 51, 2001

“I got to wear a kilt the whole movie, which was awesome. We shot in Liverpool … they took me to some Liverpool F.C. games, and I became a fan.”

17 Major Marquis Warren The Hateful Eight, 2015

“Because he is who he is. Always fun having a character that explains himself in plain words.”

16 Darius Kincaid The Hitman’s Bodyguard, 2017

“Two really interesting characters with diverse life views, that meshed well. Ain’t it funny?”

15 Ordell Robbie Jackie Brown, 1997

“A good-time guy, his own man. But the wrong guy to cross. He’ll definitely put you in a trunk of a car.”

14 Ken Carter Coach Carter, 2005

“Inspirational. The real Ken Carter was around, [helping] me with some of the characterization.”

13 Carl Lee Hailey A Time to Kill, 1996

“I have a daughter, so I understood the dynamic.”

12 Mr. Barron Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, 2016

“It’s a Tim Burton movie, so I got to be as bizarre and quirky as I wanted to be. Very freeing.”

11 Stephen Django Unchained, 2012

“People didn’t know he could read, didn’t know he could write … he was a very formidable guy.”

10 Zeus Carver Die Hard with a Vengeance, 1995

“Most say I got famous after Pulp Fiction. [But] DHWAV was the highest-grossing film in the world that year. All of a sudden I was an international name.”

9 Richmond Valentine Kingsman: The Secret Service, 2014

“I was like, ‘So how can I shoot this dude … and he still be alive, and I got stabbed in the back and died?”

8 John Shaft II Shaft, 2000

“I was like everybody else: Why do we need to do another Shaft? The one we’ve got is, like, totally good.”

7 Elijah Price Unbreakable, 2000

“I love Elijah.”

6 Gator Purify Jungle Fever, 1991

“Gator was me, I was that character. I’d been out of rehab maybe two weeks when we shot Jungle Fever.”

5 Nick Fury Marvel Universe Films, 2008–2019

“One of those blessings that just kind of fell out of the sky.”

4 Lucius Best/Frozone The Incredibles, 2004The Incredibles 2, 2018

“He has a superpower. He shows up, he hangs out, he’s got a solution. He never gets flustered.”

3 Mace Windu Star Wars: Episodes 1–3, 1999, 2002, 2005

“He’s a Jedi. Come on.”

2 Jules Winnfield Pulp Fiction, 1994

“Jules is one of those dream roles you get. It was like doing a play on the screen.”

1 Mitch Henessey The Long Kiss Goodnight, 1996

“Mitch is a fun-loving, profane guy… But he’s not afraid.”

Credits

Senior Culture Writer Kelley L. Carter

Illustration Sofia Ayuno

Senior Editor/Culture Danyel Smith

Art Direction Beth Stojkov

Development Justin McCraw

Managing Editor Raina Kelley

More Culture Stories

‘Traffik’ star Laz Alonso joins superhero series and says attending an HBCU is like going to Wakanda for four years ‘You’re supported, encouraged by each other and allowed to explore who you are as a black person in society’

Actor and Howard University alum Laz Alonso believes women are in an era of empowering themselves and taking back their power. This is why he is excited about his new film Traffik, which hit the big screen on April 20.

“It’s an exciting thrill ride,” Alonso said. “I really like the film’s tagline, ‘Refuse to be a victim.’ It’s hard to call a movie that talks about such a serious topic, human trafficking, as ‘exciting,’ but you’re on this ride with the characters not knowing what is going to happen.”

The Washington, D.C., native stars in the film, directed by former athlete Deon Taylor alongside Omar Epps and Paula Patton in a sex trafficking thriller where he plays the stereotypical sports agent. Unlike the 2011 dramedy Jumping the Broom, in which Alonso received a 2012 NAACP Image Award, he and Patton are the opposite of love interests. Instead, their two characters tolerate each other to the point of hate at times in Traffik.

Slowing down is not on the 44-year-old actor’s agenda this year. He had the fortune of mixing his love for music and acting in BET’s miniseries The Bobby Brown Story as Louil Silas Jr., the music executive who helped Brown become a solo success. The miniseries is set for a September premiere and picks up from the network’s record-breaking miniseries The New Edition Story.

Alonso will soon start shooting for Amazon’s newest superhero drama, The Boys, based on the comic book by Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson. Under the direction of Eric Kripke, Evan Goldberg and Seth Rogen, the series will open the door to a world where superheroes take advantage of their celebrity and fame. A group of vigilantes, known as The Boys, set out to take down these corrupt superheroes. Alonso will play Mother’s Milk, second in command of the group.

Alonso recently returned to D.C. to attend the Washington Redskins’ draft party in April wearing a custom jersey to announce Washington’s fourth-round draft pick, Troy Apke, a defensive back from Penn State.

The Howard University alum also made a pit stop at Home Depot’s Retool Your School ceremony, a competition-based program to help accredited historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) upgrade and renovate their campus facilities. Alonso graduated from Howard with a bachelor’s degree in business administration.

He says attending an HBCU is “of optimal importance.”

“Going to an HBCU is like going to Wakanda for four years,” Alonso said. “You’re supported, encouraged by each other and allowed to explore who you are as a black person in society without all of the societal dos and don’ts. There are tons of HBCU alums who are at the top of their professions despite HBCUs sometimes not having as many of the resources as Ivy League schools. It shows how HBCU grads have that intangible.”

He compares the HBCU experience to his frustration with former Redskins quarterback Kirk Cousins.

“He’s technically a good quarterback, but there’s an intangible when it comes to winning [that he doesn’t have],” Alonso said. “Can you put the game on your shoulders and will a victory? At Howard, you discover that intangible in your life and you tap into it. You’re going to lean on it, use it and need it. Because of Howard, I went to Wall Street. Out of a class of 300 new employees at Merrill Lynch, I was one of two black guys. There were a few others, but not as black as the two black guys from Morehouse and Howard. We were super black.”

Alonso spoke with The Undefeated about his current and upcoming films, being Afro-Latino, martial arts and growing up in a single-parent household.


Did you understand the extent of human trafficking before doing this film?

I had always looked at it as a Third World country problem. I didn’t know that 62 percent of women being sex-trafficked are African-American and that Atlanta, a place that we love to go and turn up at, is the biggest hub in the U.S. for female sex trafficking. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m starting to see more coverage of it on the news. It’s a $150 billion industry that is only second to illegal arms dealing and just as big as the drug trade. Drugs are consumed and used up, but with human trafficking, people are reused over and over again. It’s dehumanizing.

This fall, we’ll see you in The Bobby Brown Story. What is your favorite Bobby Brown record?

“My Prerogative” was big, and I liked the video, but “Don’t Be Cruel” might be one of my favorites. People forget Bobby had slow jams too, and that’s why I liked playing Louil. He’s who introduced L.A. Reid and Babyface to Bobby. They were able to channel a different Bobby than what everyone else was seeing. Bobby’s whole swag was aggressive and in-your-face, but they were able to smooth him out and make him a sex symbol. Bobby was like the original R&B rapper. It was cool having Bobby on set every day during shooting to make sure we all hit the right notes and nothing was out of place or embellished.

What can viewers expect from The Boys?

It explores the world of superheroes who become corrupted by their own power getting out of control and taking advantage of human beings. Absolute power corrupts, and who checks absolute power? We’re seeing that in our own government now. It’s a parallel universe that addresses real issues and conversations in a fictionalized backdrop. [Checking that power] is where my character, Mother’s Milk, and the rest of The Boys come into play.

Who is your favorite superhero, and why?

Superman. I loved that he could fly.

Do you have a favorite throwback TV show?

There’s so many of them, but what I really loved about sitcoms were their theme songs. Shows don’t have memorable theme songs anymore. Biz Markie is one of my favorite party DJs and does a set that is nothing but old-school theme songs.

You’re a huge D.C. sports fan. Are you a quiet or loud fan when watching games?

I’m the fan that’s a conspiracy theorist. I think refs hate D.C. sports teams because I feel like every call is unfair. They always let the opposing teams get away with stuff that we have to pay for. Nine times out of 10, I yell more at the refs than the opposing team.

How did you get into martial arts as a kid?

I had a single mom and she wanted me to be able to defend myself. Everyone on my block had an older brother that they could call on if they were losing in a fight. I was an only child, so I didn’t have that. I can’t say I won every fight, but there are a couple of guys that still remember my name.

You were 14 years old when your father passed away. How did you get through that?

My dad was in and out of the house going to rehab and AAA meetings because he had a long fight with alcoholism, and that made me feel like I had to be the man of the house very early on, even when he was home. At times, he was unable to function and I had to take care of him. I think back and I feel like that was preparing me for his passing. When he did pass, it was weird because in some ways I felt relief that he no longer had to struggle. I was too young to know what he was going through, but I knew that he wasn’t happy. And now I know he’s happy, and it’s my job every day to make him happy and proud of me.

Describe your Afro-Latino pride.

We are not black or Latino; we are both. There’s so many Afro-Latinos who speak of their pride, and it’s beautiful. No one can take our blackness away from us just like no one can take our Hispanic heritage away from us. We share it. It’s something that I hope expands to Latin America as well.

Comedian W. Kamau Bell says we’re all just waiting for ‘the straw that breaks the racist camel’s back’ The ‘United Shades of America’ host has thoughts on Starbucks, Rage Against the Machine and comedic journalism

Comedian W. Kamau Bell’s Emmy-winning series, United Shades of America, recently returned to CNN. The show, which airs Sundays at 10 p.m. ET, follows Bell around the country as he has conversations with all sorts of people, from doomsday preppers to residents on both sides of the U.S.-Mexican border. Usually he’s in the role of curious everyperson, asking questions to get us better acquainted with all the folks who make up the country.

But recently, Bell found himself in the position of expert when it came to the matter of two men who were arrested and removed from a Philadelphia Starbucks for being black and not purchasing a drink. Bell was the target of a similar slight in 2015. He was at an outside table at the Elmwood Cafe in Berkeley, California, with his wife, who is white, and her friends. According to Bell, an employee saw him as an unwelcome interloper and told him to “scram.”

I spoke with Bell about the renewed relevance of that incident, along with the latest season of his show, which includes episodes about historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs), Gullah Geechee culture and the border.

This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.

Do you think there is a heightened understanding of racism since the election? The Starbucks incident not only turned into a multiday news story, they’re shutting down 8,000 shops for racial sensitivity training.

You think about all the racist things that have happened to black people — and I’m just focusing on black people for the sake of this conversation — in the history of this country, we don’t know about, like what percentage do you think we know about? You have all of the racism from like, even this morning, I was walking out of my kids’ school and this white woman I don’t know goes, ‘Mr. Michael!’ Mr. Michael is a black man that plays guitar for kids at the library who is shorter than me, has a full beard, doesn’t wear glasses, there’s like all sorts of different ways I’m not Mr. Michael. And I go, ‘Nope.’ And she goes, ‘Oh, I thought …’ and I just kept walking.

I was like, ‘Should I tweet this?’ No, because I’m going to have Twitter all day going, ‘Everything that happens to black people is racism.’ We don’t tell our friends and family about it because then somebody will talk about it all day long. The thing that happens when someone looks at you weird on the subway instead of sitting down next to you. You don’t tell those stories to everybody.

Black people in this country have been waiting forever for the straw to break the racist camel’s back so that America can finally confront its legacy and present, future of racism. So every time that something like this happens, we get excited. Maybe this is it. Maybe it’s not Stephon Clark being shot in his backyard. Maybe it’s these two black men at Starbucks being kicked out.

You’ve said that you think comedy can fix creative issues but it can’t fix real-world issues. But your show spends quite bit of time in the real world.

Yeah, we do, but I think that what I’m doing in the real world is highlighting those issues, but I’m not fixing them. I’m just sort of going, ‘Hey, look at this thing.’ That is either something you should know more about or something that’s really bad that we’ve gotta fix. But I’m not, I can’t think of myself as, the actual fix of the issue. At the best, I’m like the doctor that diagnoses you and then walks out of the room and says, ‘I hope another doctor comes.’ I think that comedy is great with lubricating the conversation or getting people to pay attention. I think the arts are great for that in general.

One of my favorite bands is Rage Against The Machine. Now, you know, Rage Against The Machine has some great songs that are about political activism and about responding to oppression but they’re not actually political activism. They’re just songs.

I try to do things to help people out and highlight black voices and support causes, either through my privilege or through money. But I know that’s different than making a TV show. When people say the show’s either a tool of activism or education, then I feel like I’m doing a good job.

Do you feel like that’s enough?

No, it’s not.

Over the course of several years, I had to sort of convince people, producers on the show, that it’s not enough to just talk to somebody who’s an activist. We actually have to say what organization they work with and actually say in a way that people can hear it so they can Google it later. You know what I mean? Or be clear about where the agenda lies. And go, ‘Oh, and I went here where people are allowed to volunteer.’ You make sure that that is part and parcel of the thing, encouraging people to get involved.

I can’t waste time convincing people of how I want the show to be done at this point. It’s got to be done the way that I want it to be done, which is certainly pointed and clear. I want it to be relatively easy for teachers to use it as a tool for education and/or activists use it as a tool for activism. If it’s not entertaining and doing that, then it’s not the show I want.

Now that you’re in your third season, do you feel that you’ve worked out exactly the way you want it to be?

I’m never satisfied, so I still look at every episode like, ‘Why did we do this?’ ‘I should have done that better.’ ‘Who let me wear that shirt?’ The show is still a work in progress. I still watch [Anthony] Bourdain’s episodes and think, ‘Jesus, how did they do that?’ There’s still a goal, and I’m not trying to do Bourdain’s show, but it feels like that is a pure expression of him. And I feel like with my show I’m still working on getting it to be the pure expression of me.

That’s hard with television no matter what you’re doing.

That’s why I still do stand-up comedy, ’cause I can step up on stage, just sort of think of a thing, say the thing, see what people react and then say good night.

A bunch of comedians are doing some marriage of comedy and news, such as Wyatt Cenac and John Oliver and Samantha Bee. There’s this overlap with journalism because they’re both in the business of seeking truth. Or truth-telling.

I think they’re both in the business of trying to explain the world. And I think we certainly know journalists who explain the world in a way that is not truthful. And we know that there are comedians who explain the world in a way that is not truthful. So that’s the one thing I would say, we’re both trying to explain the world. But then it’s about what our agenda is in trying to explain the world.

Do you think comedians are more effective at delivering truth?

I think comedy is always the most effective way to deliver truth, not just through comedians but comedy in general. Every public speaker in the world is trying to open on a joke. It’s the first thing they tell you in public speaking. Everybody who is a good public speaker is using humor. Martin Luther King Jr. used humor. Malcolm X used humor. Maya Angelou could be funny. It doesn’t mean they’re cracking jokes, but they’re using humor to sort of get the message across. I think comedy is the most effective way to communicate anything because if somebody laughs at what you say, you know they were paying attention. It doesn’t mean they agree with you. It just means you know they were paying attention.

It makes sense that the comedians that America always elevates to be the best examples of the art form are the so-called ‘truth-tellers,’ people who are politically minded, whether it’s Richard Pryor or George Carlin or Lenny Bruce, Chris Rock. Those are the people we put as the best versions of the art form. Margaret Cho, Joan Rivers. There’s a lot of comedians who are funny, that make a lot of money, but we don’t at the end of the day put them on that Mount Rushmore of America’s stand-up comedy heroes.

‘Why didn’t you punch him in the face?’ First of all, I wouldn’t have, because that’s not how I do it.

I see you’ve got an episode on Gullah Geechee culture, and you’ve got an HBCU episode. Are you planning to sue Beyoncé for stealing all your ideas?

[Laughs.] We do mention Beyoncé in the Gullah Geechee episode. Lemonade certainly came out before we did that, but she did the Coachella thing, and we can’t re-edit that episode. Beyoncé, give me a heads-up next time! You’re making me look bad, Beyoncé! I thought we had something. No, I didn’t. She doesn’t know who I am.

The thing that’s possibly good is that it helps people come to those episodes with a little more knowledge. Maybe they’ll be more excited about our episode. I can’t promise that our HBCU episode is going to be as good as Beyoncé’s Coachella performance. I’m not prepared to say that as much as CNN might want me to say that for headlines: ‘Kamau Bell says his HBCU episode is better than Beyoncé’s Coachella performance! But I do think it’s a good companion piece.

Is there anything you regret about sitting down with white supremacist Richard Spencer?

That it didn’t happen closer to the time it aired. That’s the only thing I regret. People were asking me questions about things that hadn’t happened yet. ‘Why didn’t you punch him in the face? First of all, I wouldn’t have, because that’s not how I do it. Second of all, he hadn’t been punched in the face at the time I sat down with him. I would have asked him about it. I regret that we didn’t tape the episode and air it a week later. But that’s not how our show works.

The thing we didn’t do this season is we didn’t interview any sort of quote-unquote obvious TV villains like Richard Spencer or the Ku Klux Klan because I was tired of it and I didn’t want people to think it was my go-to move. I don’t want people to predict what I’m gonna do based on, ‘Oh, he’s gonna find some white supremacist somewhere and sit down across from him.’ I feel like I got the white supremacists’ voice in the show and also America runs on white supremacy, so we don’t have to go find a person. It’s there; it’s always running on America’s computer. That did maybe hurt CNN’s ability to put out a clip of me sitting across from someone who wants to kill me and certainly that gets us good headlines and things. But I feel like I’m tired of it and I think America’s probably tired of it, too, because we are always sort of talking about the divide. We’re going to talk about the divide but we’re just going to focus on the part of the divide that I think needs to be focused on.

I don’t need to do an episode about HBCUs and go across from somebody who’s like, ‘I don’t think there should be HBCUs.’ We hear that every day.

You have an episode in Alabama this season. How did spending time in Alabama when you were a kid influence your adult life?

Every year of my life I would spend nine months with my mom in, like, Boston, and then I would go to Alabama for three months for every summer. And the worlds couldn’t have been more different. And then eventually I traveled back and forth so much that people in the North would go, ‘You sound like you’re from the South’ and people from the South would say, ‘You sound like you’re from the North.’ And so I was always like an outsider wherever I went. It taught me how to travel. It taught me how to go anywhere and be portable, how to talk to people wherever you go, and that’s what I do now. I travel all over the place. I’m portable and pretty good at talking to people no matter where I go. It also proved to me at a very early age that there wasn’t one version of America. I knew there was two: The North’s version of America and the South’s version of America, and then when I got older I found that there was even more than that.

It taught me from a very young age that a lot of people thought they knew what America was. But no, there’s a lot of different Americas out here.

Cosby’s conviction proves a misogynist in a bow tie is still a misogynist He used class as a shield and projected his worst qualities onto poor black people

Bill Cosby’s self-righteous moralizing finally did him in.

In 2009, some five years after he’d delivered his now-notorious “Pound Cake Speech,” Cosby released a rap album: Bill Cosby Presents the Cosnarati: State of Emergency. The purpose of the album was, in Cosby’s words, to “tackle such social issues as self-respect, peer pressure, abuse and education … that doesn’t rely on profanity, misogyny, materialism or ego exercise.” “Pound Cake” with a backbeat, if you will.

Well looky here: Kendrick Lamar has a Pulitzer Prize and Bill Cosby will soon have a prison sentence. At this point (Drake beef notwithstanding), Meek Mill is more of a hero in Philadelphia than Cosby is.

Ain’t that about a bitch?

Cosby, who was convicted Thursday of three counts of aggravated indecent assault for drugging and sexually assaulting Andrea Constand in 2004, had long been guilty of shaming black people. Especially poor black people, and especially those darn hip-hoppers, with their cursing and their insistence on using the N-word and their baggy pants and their drug-dealing and their hatred of women. To Cosby, this culture was the real problem with black people, not mass incarceration, or racist policing, or discrimination in housing and education, or racist discrepancies in prison sentencing, or the drug war.

At this point, Meek Mill is more of a hero in Philadelphia than Cosby is.

No, it was black people not taking enough personal responsibility.

“Looking at the incarcerated, these are not political criminals. These are people going around stealing Coca-Cola,” Cosby said in 2004. “People getting shot in the back of the head over a piece of pound cake! And then we all run out and are outraged, ‘The cops shouldn’t have shot him.’ What the hell was he doing with the pound cake in his hand? I wanted a piece of pound cake just as bad as anybody else, and I looked at it and I had no money. And something called parenting said, ‘If you get caught with it you’re going to embarrass your mother.’ Not ‘You’re going to get your butt kicked.’ No. ‘You’re going to embarrass your family.’ ”

Slipping Quaaludes into women’s drinks is totes better than slinging crack on the corner, right?

His conviction came in part because, in 2015, U.S. District Judge Eduardo Robreno unsealed a 2005 deposition from the civil suit Constand filed against Cosby. The judge’s reasoning? Cosby “has donned the mantle of public moralist and mounted the proverbial electronic or print soap box to volunteer his views on, among other things, child rearing, family life, education and crime. To the extent that defendant has freely entered the public square and ‘thrust himself into the vortex of [these public issues],’ he has voluntarily narrowed the zone of privacy that he is entitled to claim.”

Or, in the far less legalistic words of comedian Hannibal Buress: “Bill Cosby has the f—ing smuggest old black man persona that I hate. He gets on TV: ‘Pull your pants up, black people! I was on TV in the ’80s! I can talk down to you ’cause I had a successful sitcom!’ ”

The conviction came after approximately 60 women had publicly accused Cosby of sexual abuse that spanned decades. It was Constand whose case could be heard, though, because it was one of the few that remained within the statute of limitations. And so this case was not just about her.

It was clear from the way he refused to entertain the questions about the sexual assault allegations against him from an Associated Press reporter in 2014: “No, no. We don’t answer that,” he said, as though the reporter’s question was some gross violation of politesse. Cosby thought he’d ascended to the point that he could rely on the shield of aristocracy: that outward dignity and gentility was — and, perhaps more significantly, should be — enough to deflect attention from internal ugliness. After all, it worked for the Kennedys — just ask Mary Jo Kopechne. Oh wait, we can’t.

At some point, we must acknowledge that the ideas that informed Cosby’s black conservatism and attendant hypocrisy are what uphold a culture of silence around rape and sexual assault on historically black college and university (HBCU) campuses such as Morehouse and Spelman (where Cosby donated so much money he funded a professorship and put his wife’s name on a building). Cosby condescended to poor black people and advanced the idea that higher education — and the education in class and decorum that presumably accompanied it, especially at HBCUs — was the answer to black people’s problems. He never understood that a misogynist in a bow tie is still a misogynist.

When we debated whether it was appropriate for the Smithsonian Institution to display Cosby’s art collection in the National Museum of African Art, what we were really debating was whether it was ethical for an institution to be complicit in upholding this aristocratic contract. That’s why it was significant when colleges and universities began rescinding their honorary degrees and removing Cosby’s name from their edifices. This wasn’t about erasing a man or a legacy. It was about clawing back the cloak of legitimacy he’d used not only to denigrate poor black people but also to win the trust of so many of his victims. After all, Constand met Cosby when she was director of women’s basketball operations at Temple University and Cosby was one of its favored sons.

Cosby is hardly the only self-styled race man with a woman problem. See also: Eldridge Cleaver, Huey Newton and pre-MAGA Kanye West (yes, that would be the same Kanye who tweeted, “BILL COSBY INNOCENT !!!!!!!!!!” in 2016.)

This week, a different sort of survivor came forward. In an interview with Hollywood Unlocked, singer Kelis alleged that her former husband, Nas, the same man who wrote “I Can,” had been physically and emotionally abusive. For decades, Cosby has been trying, with varying degrees of success, to suggest that misogyny is a problem of less educated, less well-mannered black people. Well guess what, Bill, now you’re in the same boat as R. Kelly and a host of other abusers you’d prefer to sniff at. Happy paddling.

Cosby’s conviction offers some measure of vindication for the five dozen women who have accused him of drugging and/or sexually assaulting them. Finally, a woman got to tell her story to a jury. And finally, she was believed.

But I’m hoping that this week delivers another lesson too. True justice and equality do not mean that wealthy men of color get to behave with the same cavalier disregard for women as their wealthy white counterparts do. True equality is when all abusers, regardless of race, are held to account for their actions and they’re no longer allowed to use class as a shield.

Jordan Brand is giving kids full rides to college — no basketball experience needed ’To see young people learn they can go to college and don’t have to worry about money, it’s hard to put into words’

 

Rozzie Cribbs never thought he’d make it to the promised land. Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, the idea of being a full-time student on the campus of a four-year university was a seemingly unattainable goal. He hadn’t seen many kids like him ever reach it — and not for a lack of trying. For some, life circumstances simply dictated the mindset. “I wasn’t really thinking about college,” said Cribbs.

According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, in 2016, the year Cribbs graduated, 69.7 percent of high school students (ages 16-24) went on to junior and four-year colleges. But within the African-American community, that number shrinks to 58.2 percent. “My family wasn’t real big on it,” said Cribbs, 20. “They felt like you’re just putting money to debt, with a low probability of getting work.”

In high school, Cribbs dreamed of working in graphic design, and he says he owes some of his artistic creativity to his older brother, who for a while pursued a career in animation. “It didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to, and he kind of gave up on it,” Cribbs said. “So from that point on, I just said OK, I’m only gonna treat it like a hobby.”

“I used to consider myself a realist, thinking college ain’t gonna happen. This scholarship taught me to think, just put the work in and try. It’s changed me as a person.” — Rozzie Cribbs

Rozzie Caribs (center) greets his friend Calvin Stewart during a “study jam” at the library at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale on April 10. Cribbs received a full-ride college scholarship through the Jordan Brand’s Wings program.

Carolina Hidalgo for The Undefeated

But in 2014 during his junior year, his high school, Little Black Pearl Art & Design Academy, welcomed Larry Miller, president of the multibillion-dollar Jordan Brand, as a keynote speaker. The academy is a charter school in service to students labeled “at risk.” Miller had considered rescheduling his visit, which fell on a day in which the surrounding community was mourning the loss of one of the school’s students — to gun violence.

But Monica Haslip, Little Black Pearl’s executive director, persuaded him to stay and inspire her pupils with his story. Haslip and Miller eventually teamed up under the umbrella of Jordan’s revamped community outreach initiative, “Wings.” Soon there was the creation of the Jordan Design Studio at the brand’s flagship store on South State Street, where Cribbs and his peers spent Saturdays learning the X’s and O’s of design, marketing and merchandising. Cribbs showed off his skills as a gifted freehand artist with a design that was schemed into a T-shirt and placed on sale at the store. In just two days, it sold out.

“That shirt [was] something from the heart,” he said. A photo of the tee, which features a young Boondocks-Afroed hooper looking down onto the city of Chicago, is his profile picture on Facebook. “I did it because I wanted to try something new. I didn’t think I was going to get a scholarship from it.”

“When I first went to high school, I didn’t expect to go to college.” — Kiara Garcia

Yes, Cribbs made it to college, and he did it with help from the Jordan Brand. After Cribbs was admitted into the Jordan Brand Wings Scholars Program, he was awarded $10,000, which he figured would be enough money for only two semesters at Southern Illinois University in Carbondale, Illinois, and then, in a reverse move, he’d transfer to a community college. But while sitting in a freshly moved-into dorm room, on just his second day at SIU, the phone rang.

“‘You got a full ride,’ ” Cribbs, now a sophomore studying communication design, recalled Haslip telling him. “I was like, ‘Wait, what?! A full ride?’ I used to consider myself a realist, thinking college ain’t gonna happen. But this scholarship taught me to think, just put the work in and try. It’s changed me as a person.” Cribbs and two other young people in this story are but three of the more than 200 students since 2015 who’ve received full scholarships to attend college through Wings.

“If you got wings, you can fly,” Miller said. “And our goal is to give everybody wings.” Michael Jordan wouldn’t have it any other way.


Kiara Garcia, 21, attends her Transitional Justice class inside Susan P. Luek Hall at Millersville University of Pennsylvania on April 11. The international studies major and Spanish minor said she wouldn’t be at MU without the Jordan Brand Wings Scholars Program. “It’s a privilege,” Garcia said. “It allows me to extend beyond academics.”

Corey Perrine for The Undefeated

“People see Michael as the greatest, the GOAT, with six championships,” Jordan Brand vice president Howard White said by phone from his Beaverton, Oregon, office. “But they don’t think about the person who, when he was already a millionaire, went back to school to get his degree.”

In 1984, the Chicago Bulls selected Jordan with the third overall pick in the NBA draft after his decision to forgo his senior year at the University of North Carolina. But two years later — after a broken bone in his left foot suffered on Oct. 29, 1985, forced him to miss 64 games — Jordan returned to Chapel Hill, where he completed his major in geography and graduated.

“Most of you admire what Michael does in basketball, but those are not my proudest moments,” his mother, Deloris Jordan, once told the Chicago Tribune. “As parents, we tried to explain to Michael what was important from day one — and that was education.”

In 1988, Michael and Deloris co-founded the Michael Jordan Foundation (now dissolved, although the family founded the James R. Jordan Foundation in 2000, in honor of Michael Jordan’s late father), through which he formed the Michael Jordan Education Club as a way to motivate sixth-graders from economically disadvantaged communities to reach goals in academics, attendance and community service. “Michael is as dogmatic about kids getting educated as he is about winning,” said White, one of his closest confidants.

Also in ’89, Nike released a poster featuring a photograph of a young, stone-faced Jordan with his arms outstretched — a powerful depiction of his nearly 7-foot wingspan. The word “Wings” drapes over the picture, and its anchor is a quote from poet William Blake: No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.

Jordan’s first nonprofit organization and that iconic poster provided inspiration for the Jordan Brand’s educational impact program, which was rebranded in 2010 under the name of Wings. Previously it had been called the Jordan Fundamentals Program, and from 1999 to 2009 it gave more than $10 million in financial aid to schools in underserved communities. “My mother and my teachers inspired the creation of the Wings program by placing a high value on education and passing that on to me,” Michael Jordan told The Undefeated via email. “Education is the most valuable tool we can provide young people today to help them achieve greatness.”

“My mother and my teachers inspired the creation of the Wings program by placing a high value on education and passing that on to me.” — Michael Jordan

Bennett College student Ophelia Murray, a junior political science major, poses for a photograph in her room in the honors dorm on campus in Greensboro, North Carolina, on April 4.

Eamon Queeney for The Undefeated

Ground zero for Wings was Philadelphia, where the brand collaborated with a local retail partner to launch an incentive-based program known as A’s for J’s. It operated the way it sounds: If students showed up for class and worked hard toward earning good grades, they were awarded pairs of Air Jordans.

“When I first went to high school, I didn’t expect to go to college,” said Philly native Kiara Garcia, now 21, who attended the Kensington High School for the Creative and Performing Arts. “[But] when I got into my junior year and entered college readiness programs for SAT prep, along with having A’s for J’s come in, it was a push. Like, ‘Oh, my God, this could actually happen.’ ”

As successful as A’s for J’s became, the brand had more to give than sneakers. In 2015, Wings established its Scholars Program to financially assist students in college. Garcia quit both of her after-school jobs to focus on getting the scholarship. Meanwhile, Ophelia Murray, who’d also participated in the A’s for J’s program at the suggestion of a counselor at Imhotep Institute Charter High School in Philly, had been admitted to Spelman College. Yet the acceptance letter came with zero financial aid, an immovable barrier for her mother, the leader of a single-parent household after the death of Murray’s father. While searching for a more affordable option for college, she found Wings.

“The process of applying for the scholarship … I don’t know if I was really confident in myself,” said Murray, 21. “I really didn’t think I could get this. Actually getting it … was nerve-wracking and amazing to me. I felt really relieved, and really grateful, because somebody actually believed in the work I put in.”

Cribbs, now a sophomore studying communication design, remembers the call. “I was like, ‘Wait, what?! A full ride?’ ”

Bennett College student Ophelia Murray, (center) a junior political science major, signs papers after speaking to a freshman orientation class in Pfeiffer Science Hall on campus in Greensboro, North Carolina, April 4.

Eamon Queeney for The Undefeated

Garcia and Murray became two of the first three recipients of the Jordan Wings scholarship, receiving full rides to attend their school of choice. Garcia is a junior international studies major, with minors in Spanish, government and social justice, at Millersville University in Pennsylvania. She’s studied abroad and taken on leadership roles as a resident assistant and volunteer mentor. Murray is a junior at the historically black Bennett College in Greensboro, North Carolina. Her college experience has included traveling to China, joining Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority and taking part in Duke’s pre-law program last summer.

In the past few years, Wings has sent hundreds of students to approximately 65 different colleges and universities around the country. The program has also gone global, expanding to China and extending scholarships even to high schools. In the United States, Wings joined forces with 23 community partners in five different cities: Portland, Oregon; Philadelphia; Los Angeles; New York; and Chicago, where the program has continued to support Little Black Pearl. Jordan is also working with middle school students on the South Side through a nonprofit called Triple Threat Mentoring.

“In a lot of cases, my students don’t believe they can go to college, and it’s largely because they don’t have the resources,” said Haslip. Little Black Pearl has produced 14 Wings Scholars to date. “To see young people all of a sudden learn that they can go to college for four years, and they don’t have to worry about money — it’s hard to put into words. You know that these kids now have a real opportunity now to live the lives that they choose.”


From left to right: Kiara Garcia, Rozzie Cribbs, and Ophelia Murray all received full-ride scholarships through the Jordan Brand Wings Program. Garcia and Murray also received summer internships with Nike.

Corey Perrine, Carolina Hidalgo, Eamon Queeney for The Undefeated

Inside of a small cafe in Chile, while studying abroad last year, Garcia received a message that made her break out into a different language. This summer, for the first time, the Jordan Brand is bringing on interns to work at Nike’s global headquarters in Oregon, and Garcia was selected as part of the first class.

“I remember saying, ‘What! … an internship?’ You can imagine, I’m speaking English and everybody was looking at me all weird. In that moment, it was a lot of emotion. I’m thinking about what this could mean for me professionally, exploring more of my international interests, knowing that Nike has a big influence in the world.”

“Being able to be a Jordan Wings Scholar has proven that there are no limits. That really, anything is possible.” — Ophelia Murray

Murray got a similar notification, offering her the opportunity to join Garcia with an internship. She’s always joked with people that she’d envisioned herself becoming a corporate lawyer for Nike. Cribbs, who is a year younger than both of his fellow scholars, won’t intern until the summer of 2019, but he’s already made it out to Nike’s Pacific Northwest campus to see where he could be designing apparel and sneakers one day.

“ ‘Wow, my dream has really come true,’ ” Murray said she thought upon getting the call. “It was … surreal for me. Being able to be a Jordan Wings Scholar has proven that there are no limits. That really, anything is possible.”

A committee of 16 volunteer Jordan Brand employees is now a week into reviewing this year’s pool of scholarship applications. In mid-May, they’ll convene and complete their decisions. By the first week of June, 30 more students will receive calls, and full rides to go to college, as the latest crop of Wings Scholars.

“Throughout the years, Wings has positively affected so many young people’s lives,” said Michael Jordan, “and nothing gives me greater pride than seeing those kids learn and succeed.”